


Closing Time

by Phoebsfan



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:10:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoebsfan/pseuds/Phoebsfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">This is a monumental mistake.  Earth shattering.  Mind blowing.  End of the world kind of mistake.</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closing Time

_This is a mistake._

It echos in her brain loudly. An intrusive shotgun warning that does nothing to dissuade her. Not when he's melting a hole in her with that half intoxicated puppy dog adoration coupled with that delightfully wicked smirk. Like he knows the mess he's creating between her thighs.

She does the only thing she can.

Holding out her right wrist she slides the salt shaker across the bar with her left hand, telling that annoying voice in her head to take a damn hike.

It was an ugly case. The kind that always left her feeling like she needed a shower. The kind that made her want to drink herself into some kind of stupor to shut her mind up. The kind that would linger like a bad smell, tainting her dreams and making her stomach churn. The kind that had to be burned away.

So they'd gone to his bar.

It fit. The sad melancholy of the piano. The dark corners and hushed tones. The last of the night's patrons finishing up the last of their drinks. Shuffling out one or two at a time as the bartender closed up.

_This was such a mistake._

That was an hour ago. An hour since he sent the last of his employees on their merry little way, turned down all but the bar lights and plopped down next to her at the bar with a bowl of lime wedges, a shaker of salt, and a bottle of Jose.

She'd teased him about pinching pennies.

He'd told her she didn't want to taste it anyway.

Wasn't that the truth. She just wants to burn it all away. He knows her all too well.

So they've spent the hour saying nothing much, drinking like they've been talking, skirting around the whole thing. Pissing off the hour like neither one of them really wants it to end, knowing that when one of them hits their limit it will.

So the bottle is mostly full, only a couple lime wedges sit on the counter, and everything is still churning inside. A halfhearted attempt at purging. Like them, so much less than what they want.

He asks her if she's okay and that's what sets it all off.

She's not okay.

Not with any of it.

He almost died again tonight. She almost died again. Their suspect got away and they both know he's just going to kill again.

She failed, at her job, at her life. And there is this sick feeling in her heart, almost all the time now. So tonight she just wants it to go away.

She doesn't want to think about all the things that might have been, or could have been, or will be. She doesn't want to wonder why he even bothered coming with her. Why he's being so nice to her now, when just last week he was dragging some damn bimbo around with him. Why he's asking her if she's okay when it's so clear she isn't.

She wants the alcohol to burn her insides like she knows his fingers would her outsides. She wants to drink the whole damn bottle and make a few mistakes. Wants tonight branded on her skin so she never comes back to it. Never has to wonder what if. Never messes up again.

She just wishes he'd say his fucking goodbye and cut that last string that is tying her to him. Wants that ache in her chest to go away for good. Wants him to stop tug, tug, tugging until she bleeds. Wants him to just rip it free.

Tonight she wants him to finish cutting her up on his sharp edges. Wants him to take everything so that tomorrow she can mop up the mess and move on.

She wants destruction. Complete annihilation. Oblivion.

So when he just looks at her outstretched arm and the salt shaker instead of moving forward she yanks her arm back and licks her wrist herself. Pours too much salt on it, and shoves it back in his face.

"Kate..." he hesitates.

"Shut up," she bites out, pushing his still full shot toward his hand.

He nods, grabs her wrist and sweeps his tongue over it quickly. Too quickly, like he's afraid to touch her. Dropping her wrist before she can even register the warmth of his tongue finally, finally pressed against her pulse.

She watches him down the shot, her blood heated. Slip another wedge between his teeth, where she wants her tongue.

He's facing her, trying not to look at her. She slides her bar stool closer, slips her knees between his spread legs. Trying not to make eye contact. She's afraid if he sees her, the ugly inside, he'll tell her to stop. He'll say all kinds of nice things, right things, and he'll stop.

He doesn't want to hurt her. Now isn't the right time.

He'll tell her it's a mistake.

The darkness that fills the room, is an echo of what she feels inside. She doesn't have the words he does. She doesn't know how to tell him that this is a mistake she has to make. That the only way she's going to feel alright again is if he fills her darkness with some of his light. That she needs his touch, even if it kills them both.

Even if he hates her for it. She needs it. Maybe that will finally make her move on like he has. Maybe then she won't worry about him when he runs off with another suicidal detective. Maybe then she won't care how many blondes hang on his every word.

So she grabs his wrist and sweeps her tongue across it. His skin salty and dark, tempting her to linger. She doesn't. Not when he pours salt on it and she returns. Not when the tequila burns like his warm skin. Not when she cuts the taste with citrus, his hand slips free, and she offers her own wrist.

They swap wrists a few more times. Her throat thick, her sex achy. She wonders if it means anything to him. If he feels anything when his tongue dances across her skin. If he wishes he could linger, trace his way to more private parts, feel her pulse through her skin and know...

She dares to look up as he takes her wrist again. Their eyes catch and something flares.

He grabs her forearm with his free hand, tugging her slightly closer than before. His eyes burning through her as he brings his tongue to her skin and lingers. God does he linger... lapping at her skin like a sugary treat. Pressing down harder, flicking faster, coating her wrist unnecessarily, then scraping his teeth and rubbing his lower lip across her skin before dragging it away from his hungry mouth.

Holding it out to her with both hands, she almost quivers with the energy between them as she applies the salt. Her eyes breaking from his just long enough to see what she is doing. The salt almost missing the edge of the bar as she returns to his eyes.

He smirks at her clumsy move and she knows she'll make him pay when he moves her wrist back to his mouth and makes love to it. The salt long gone by the time he lets her go and swallows his shot.

Then it's her turn.

She almost chickens out. But he cocks an eyebrow at her and she dives right in. Grabs his arm with both hands and presses her lips to his pulse. Flicking her tongue out, once, twice...

He flips his wrist and grabs her arm, shocking her enough to draw back and meet his eyes.

Shaking his head he undoes the top button of his shirt.

It's everything she wants.

Letting a shakey breath shoot past her lips she slides to the floor, standing between his knees, his hands gripping his own thighs like he's afraid to touch her. She bites her lower lip, looking at his neck, where his shoulder meets it, his collarbone. Her eyes tracing the path she wants to suck and nip. Wondering if he tastes different there.

He pries one hand from his thigh and grabs the salt shaker, forces it in her hand as he tilts his head to the side for her.

_This is a monumental mistake. Earth shattering. Mind blowing. End of the world kind of mistake._

"Do it," he whispers, his voice harsh and strangled.

Screw it.

She presses her tongue against his neck, slides it down and seals her lips around his pulse.

He groans, bites his lip to keep from begging for more. Grips his thighs to keep from dragging her down into his lap. Lets her lick and suck, nip and taste.

She moves to grab his shoulders and remembers the salt. Wants to throw it over the damn bar and climb on his lap, but she doesn't. Instead she pulls back, carefully pours some on his skin and sets it back on the counter.

His hand shakes as he pours her another, tequila spilling all over the bar.

"Oops," she teases.

"My bad," he agrees as he hands her the drink.

"Good thing it's the cheap stuff," she says before swooping in to clean his skin, then quickly pulling back to swallow her drink.

When she sits back down and slips a wedge between her lips he clears his throat.

"Maybe we should call it a night," he offers. She shakes her head and discards the wedge.

"You still have another drink," she says as she pours him another.

"Kate..." His features cloud over and it pisses her off.

"What? You have another woman waiting for you?" She demands. "Sorry. I shouldn't have kept you," she spits out standing up with every intention of storming off. He grabs her wrist and pulls her back. Their eyes crashing together violently.

"No," he's mad now too. She doesn't know why but she doesn't care.

"Go," she hisses.

"Don't fuck with me," he growls.

"I'm not. You are the one who is fucking around." It's the only dagger she has left and she delivers it with as much ice as she can.

It feels like it's in her heart though. Like the truth is cutting her down instead. She can't help but picture him between some other woman's legs. Making some other woman scream his name. Pounding into some other woman.

Not his. She never would be either. He didn't want her anymore.

He hesitates and she knows she's right. If he wanted her he would...

"You're right. I want _my_ damn drink."

He presses her back into the bar with his hips and she knows he's not talking about any damn shot. Can feel his attraction pressed into her intimately and she almost weeps with relief.

"So take it already," she whispers. She wants to beg him. Never thought she would get to this point, she should feel shamed. But it hurts to much to feel anything but the need that burns in her core. Hurts too much to think about anything that came before or anything that will come after.

He stills and brings a hand up to her cheek, cups her skin and she closes her eyes, leans into his touch.

"Where?" he whispers and it confuses her until she opens her eyes and sees the salt shaker in his hand. Meets his eyes again and knows he isn't just asking about the shot.

She slumps against him, her hands on his shoulders, her cheek against his chest.

"Everywhere," she whispers. It hurts everywhere.

He wraps his arms around her and holds her. She tries not to cry when he presses his lips to her forehead.

She wants to tell him she's sorry, she loves him, don't go. Instead she pushes against him lightly, guiding him back into his seat. Instead she takes the salt from his hand and pushes the shot toward him on the bar.

She expects him to pull away. Expects him to pack everything up all nice and polite. Gentlemanly like. She's slightly intoxicated, he's not far behind. They shouldn't do this and after he cradled her so gently in his arms she just knows she blew any chance of feeling his skin against hers, which is probably the right thing anyway.

It would have been a mistake.

The wrong reasons. Forced or manipulated. That's not really the way she wants him anyway.

"Let me in, Kate." The pain on his face mirrors hers. "Please. Just let me in."

She's never wanted to break in front of him. Until now. Never wanted to fall into his arms and let him see it all. The broken bits. The hurting bits. The ugly jealous bits. The part of her that's just not good enough. The part of her that's afraid she won't ever be enough. The part that thinks he'll leave her like everyone else.

She's never wanted him to see her as this messed up bitch who would stoop so low to get what she wanted. To self destruct.

She doesn't want to use alcohol or a hurried hot fuck to feel better.

"I love you."

For a minute she doesn't know who said it. She can't believe it slipped from her lips but when she sees his expression she knows it had to have come from her. The pain on his face melts away and he smiles.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't ready to face it. It scares me. But it hurts. You and... God, Rick. It hurts." It spills out of her. Word vomit. Messy and complicated.

"If you have to... I don't want you to... I..." And it keeps coming and coming. Like a train that can't stop in time, crashing into the moment with all the same delicacy. This time she does turn away, shamed at the way she can't seem to shut up.

"Shhh..." he whispers, his breath warm on her ear as he wraps his arms around her waist from behind. "Why don't we finish our drinks? We don't have to talk about it all right now. It will wait, I promise."

Tomorrow, when she's sober, this will all seem so stupid. He's right, so she nods and turns to face him. He sits back down and she hesitates for a minute, then pulls her bar stool up so it's resting against his. Right between his legs.

She climbs on the stool and sits facing the bar. His knee resting against her thigh. She pours herself another drink and sips at it.

"This stuff really is disgusting," she murmurs, setting the drink back down.

"I can get us something else," he offers, her hand comes down on his thigh to stop him from moving.

"No. It's your turn," she smiles, looking in her drink. She squeezes his thigh and his left hand slips under her shirt, resting on her waist.

"I think we need new rules," he murmurs.

"Like?"

"Well, now that I've gotten you drunk. I figure a little truth sharing won't hurt?" He looks at her with hopeful eyes and she wants to give him what he wants but she doesn't know if she can.

"Hmmm. I'm not sure I have that many more," she admits.

"Ok. Fair enough. How about I just tell you the truth then?" His voice more serious as he slips his hand from under her shirt.

"You need to be drunk for that?" Her heart pounds uncomfortably in her chest. She knows he loved her, what else could he have to say?

"Apparently," he admits.

"Ok," she steels herself. Throws her drink back quickly and tries not to gag.

"I thought you didn't care. I heard you, when you said you remembered the shooting. I was in observation watching. I thought it meant you were embarrassed. I thought you were trying to be kind and pretend it didn't happen. It hurt and part of me wanted you to hurt too." He throws back his drink as she turns to face him.

"I thought you didn't want me anymore. I thought I waited too long. I thought I lost you," she admits, then turns her attention to filling their glasses again. "I wanted to get you drunk. I wanted to show you what you were missing. I wanted you to miss me. To burn whenever you thought about me."

"I already do." His fingers close around hers on her glass. "So much. All the time."

The corner of her mouth turns up.

"So do I."

He groans. She reaches up and pops her top button.

His free hand snakes around her waist and tugs her closer. She lifts her leg and slides it over his thigh to accommodate their new position. Her knees resting next to his waist, on the edge of her stool.

"Kate," He whispers meeting her eyes. "It's my turn, right?"

She swallows and nods as he wraps his hand around her wrist and starts pulling it toward his mouth.

"No," she chokes out and he frowns. "Not there," she clarifies and reaches for the front of her shirt. He watches, his eyes hungry, as she slowly slips free a few more buttons. Her black bra on display, he sucks in a breath, his fingers flexing against her waist.

Dropping her hands from her mostly open shirt she reaches down to grab his from her waist. Placing it over the scar between her breasts she murmurs softly.

"Here."

His eyes dart around the room quickly as if checking to ensure they are alone. She smiles as she drops her hand from his and he finally leans in.

His finger traces over her scar once, twice. Then he drops his hand back to her waist and lets his tongue wander. Soft and careful at first, just the tip running over the imperfection. Then the entire flat of his tongue presses down, tracing the inner swell of her right breast, then her left. His lips latching on a few times. Sucking and nipping until she thinks she's going to come apart. Her fingers in his hair, she throws her head back and lets him take his time.

Finally, he licks and nips his way back up to her ear and whispers.

"Salt."

She forces one hand from his hair and grabs at the salt, knocks it over when he latches onto her pulse and her hips jump. The sound loud in the quiet bar. He smiles against her skin and brings his hand up to the bar with hers, searching blindly until he finds both her hand and the salt. Locking around them he guides them to her chest, with a few flicks he lets go and she does too, the salt crashing to the ground when he returns to her chest.

He yanks her lower body flush with his and she tightens her legs around him. Canting her hips up and down against him, one hand bracing on the stool behind her, with her other hand she picks up his drink and leans back to slow its spill down her skin. He catches every drop. His tongue warm and wet, as he drags it over her skin slowly.

His hands slide down to cup her ass, squeeze her tightly to him as he thrusts against her. His cock straining to reach her. Sink deep inside.

She sets the empty glass on the counter, slips a lime wedge between her teeth for him but he doesn't give a flying fuck about cutting the taste with the damn fruit so he grabs it from her with his lips and spits it across the room. Diving back into her mouth, cutting the taste with her. His tongue charting the sweetness of her mouth. Sliding against her tongue as her hands wander his back.

Bringing her hands to his chest she works on the buttons on his shirt, separating the fabric as fast as she can. His hands moving under her shirt running up her back, down her sides, cupping her breasts. Squeezing and tweaking. Caressing and holding as he pulls her into his lap fully and presses her back against the bar.

Headlights flood the room for a second and he pulls his lips from her neck, tugging her to him to cover her.

She smiles as he looks toward the door.

"It's nothing. It's late. No one is out there." She whispers.

He smiles.

"Your turn anyway," he says then tugs his shirt free and pulls his undershirt off, leaving him warm and bare under her fingers. She lets them wander his skin, watching them explore for a minute before unwrapping her legs and slipping to the floor in front of him.

He frowns and she laughs as she bends over to pick up the salt shaker she dropped earlier.

"We'll need this," she explains then adds, "Put your back against the bar and lean back."

He obliges eagerly and she rewards him with a kiss. Slow and deep, sucking on his tongue before moving her attention to his bottom lip, his jaw, his neck, and down. Down. Down. Her tongue circling his belly button. Her teeth catching the skin just above his jeans.

"Kaaate," he groans when she pulls away, just short of where he very much wants her.

"What?" she teases innocently as she covers his lower stomach in salt.

"Truth time. If you keep that up my next shot is going to be between your legs." He closes his eyes and confesses.

"I don't know what you are talking about," she murmurs against his skin, then works the fly of his jeans open as she licks his skin clean. He tries not to jump when she slips her hand under his boxers and grips him firmly. Pulls him free and blows against him, then trickles tequila down his chest and stomach. Cleaning up every bit of it with her tongue. Her hair soft against his skin as she slides down his body and ends a heartbeat away from his hard cock.

Her breath warm against him, he lifts his hips and brushes her cheek with his hard length. Her own need heavy between her thighs, it takes everything in her to pull away and not climb on his lap. When she does he grabs her wrist and pulls her to the bar next to him, evil glint in his eye.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with your food, detective?" he growls as his hands grab her waist and hoist her on to the bar. He pushes the tequila aside, the bowl of lime wedges crashes to the ground, and she doesn't give a shit about what happened to the damn salt.

He makes fast work of her pants, tosses them over his shoulder as he pushes her down to lie back on the counter. His lips land on her stomach as he leans over her body. His teeth scrape against her lower stomach as his fingers work under her panties and pull. Down her legs, over his shoulder. Then his fingers are pressing against her inner thighs, spreading her legs for him.

She closes her eyes and holds on to the bar. Knuckles white as he tastes her. Open wide for him as his tongue traces all her secrets, lapping up what he does to her. Slipping inside and pushing her over, she shatters around him, in him, on him. Then he starts again.

Questing with his tongue, circling and prodding. Teasing and thrusting until she can't think. Squirms to get away, pushes herself closer. His hands spreading her wider, his tongue taking her deeper.

Her breath rough and ragged, her heart pounding nearly out of her chest. So aroused she hears the soft slick of her desire against his lips, along his tongue and it's too much. She tries to close her her legs but he holds them open and she cries out as her world explodes again.

He kisses the inside of her thigh, gives her a minute before heading back between her boneless legs.

Moaning she catches his face in her hands and pulls him away from her over stimulated center, up to her lips where she tastes herself on his tongue and the fire in her burns brighter. She wraps her arms around his neck and slides off the counter, down his body. Holding on to him for a moment as her knees wobble and he grins like he just won the lottery. Funny when she's the one who just enjoyed the fruits of his very talented tongue.

Pushing him back a step, she turns around and puts her elbows on the bar stool in front of her, wraps her fingers around the edge gripping it tightly then looks over her shoulder at him and raises an eyebrow.

"Here?" His voice is strangled but his body wraps around hers.

"Then in your office. Then you can take me home and we can do it in my bed. Or we could go to your place and do it in your bed... then in your shower... or..." He groans and shuts her up when he grips her hips with one hand and guides himself in with the other.

"Rick..." she groans as he pauses half in, careful, gentle. Not at all what she needs but so like him.

He kisses her neck, his fingers gripping her hips and she arches back into him quickly forcing the issue.

"Kate..." he grunts surprised and appreciative as he finds himself buried completely. His hand wanders from her hip to between her legs as he pulls out and pushes back in. His thumb finds her clit and flicks, tweaks, teases as he drives in deeper.

"More," she begs and he groans. Not quite sure he can last, he rubs her faster, pounds harder.

She pushes back, desperate and needy, meeting his hips with each thrust. She pants and moans as he bends over her, filling her over and over again until she gasps out and he feels her spasm around him. Little breathy moans as her head drops and she squeezes tighter with each stroke. Flutters in pure bliss.

He watches himself, entering the only place he wants to be. Conquering that last forbidden space. Feeling her warm and tight and wet. Driving in until he has to pull out, spilling all over her thighs.

His jeans and boxers around his knees, he wraps his arms around her and kisses the back of her neck, nuzzling in close and smelling her. Them. Finally.

When his heart calms down he pulls his body up and onto a bar stool, tugging her with him. He tries to pull her up onto his lap but fails, his body crapping out on him from the alcohol and the sex. She laughs and tugs the bar stool she bent over for him on—yeah she's never drinking in public again without getting wet—next to his and climbed up. Resting between his spread thighs, her back against his chest. The tails of her shirt covering her lower half.

"How about we skip the office and go straight to the bed option?" he asks a moment later when he has her wrapped in his arms, his lips against her temple.

"Too old for drunken bar sex?" she teases, her fingers tracing random patterns on his arm as she stares out the window on the other side of the bar. Not really wanting to move, happy for the first time in a long time. Safe.

"Too much alcohol. And to be honest, this is damn uncomfortable."

She laughs and nods.

"Next time we do shots, we are definitely not doing them more than ten feet from a bed. Let's get out of here."

He lets her go and she jumps down, knowing that the sooner they dress and get out, the sooner she can curl up next to him in bed. Spend the next few hours kissing him, touching him. Doing all the things she thought she would never get to do. All the things she thought she was too late for.

In the darkness of the bar she searches for her clothes as he stands and hikes up his boxers and jeans.

"Hey, Kate," he says softly as she locates her underwear on a table in the back of the bar.

"Yeah?" she calls out, slipping them on then turning to hunt for her pants.

"I do love you and I'm sorry I hurt you," he confesses. She meets his eyes and smiles, all the dark ugly parts of her melting away.

"I know. Why don't you call us a cab and we can talk all about it on the way home?" she offers stepping up to him. He wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her gently.

"I'd like that."

"Me too."

"This isn't some awesome dream, right? I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and be alone in my bed?" he asks brushing his nose against her neck, his fingers tightening around her waist.

"No. It's real. I'm not going anywhere." She smiles, touched at his concern.

Because this wasn't a mistake.


End file.
